I did what any self respecting woman would do

OI. It’s all been a bit manic, grim, tense, stressed and a bit more manic on top around here of late.
There’s the issue of just when Chef is going to pay me the courtesy of explaining the triple shift scenario on Saturdays, as opposed to the explanation late one Friday two weeks ago which involved, ‘I have to start early tomorrow.’ FULL FUCKING STOP.
The subtext of that was that somehow I was meant to know this translated into me then telling his mum who had rescheduled a family get together – for our anniversary – to earlier on the Saturday morning. How telling me at 10.30 at night when I was not even aware of the fact my beautiful MIL had moved it forward so Chef could at least be there for a portion of it is something I’m still struggling with.
Then there was the putting a very large sum of money the credit card without telling me.
Or the times I’ve seen him just discard his stinky chef uniforms and aprons toward the laundry – which to me shows such a complete lack of respect for the role I am currently playing in this family he might as well have spat on me and even slapped me around a bit for the hell of it.
Then there was the sleeping in on Sunday, which with the start of daylight EFFING saving meant he surfaced at something like 10.30-11, which people, in my book, is the equivalent of the day being half over. So the “what are we doing today” was something I could barely breath through let alone give a response.
Which was a very disappointing dessert to the whole conversation of “The staff Christmas party is going to be on the 23rd” (subtext: um, I know we were leaving for our first family holiday in 18 months on the 23rd and I know it’s really unreasonable to leave on Christmas Eve to a holiday destination that is a minimum 8 hour drive away but would take at least 10-12 with children and breastfeeds and even more unreasonable and unachievable considering it also involves putting up a tent at the other end and getting presents ready for boys for the next day and so on and so forth). ANOTHER FULL EFFING STOP MY EFFING ARSE.
All because he’s distracted and focused on the big shiny new bauble of a job that he’s enjoying.
Hello Bueller? BUELLER?
Life’s still going on over here.
And what a pretty glow is emanating from that smouldering WRECKAGE of my life.
Then there’s the whole household management of four kids and the significant readjustment to being back home with a toddler and newborn – something I didn’t do well the first time around and seem to have only marginally improved on.
Monday involved getting out of the house and hitting the pavement with the two littlest sproggets and incredibly I felt better for it. That and several loads of washing. And vacuuming. I think I paid some bills.
And Mum coming home from the specialist with news she has to have a hip replacement and that it’s happening at the beginning of December. And that she can’t drive for six weeks.
And all the rest that goes with it.
I cancelled our holiday booking last night.
I’ve been trying really hard to not be selfish about this. Or a martyr. Trying.Really.Hard. Trying.
But I really have been having an incredibly sumptuous banquet of a pity party over here.
Made all the more pitiful by the distinct lack of alcohol.
Then yesterday started with Grover fussing from about 4am to 6, which was like an entree to the main meal of ‘the morning run’ of getting kids dressed for school, other kids dressed and nappies dealt with and Oscar’s ‘super legs’ put on, the breakfast mayhem (can someone explain to me how if kids sit at a table to eat breakfast I still find Nutrigrain by the back door and underfoot all through the house), a breast feed somewhere in there and a few nappy changes, including one out at the car as we were trying to start the school run. Felix got to school but was probably late by about 5 minutes the back down the road a few suburbs to drop Oscar at school, then the 40minute drive into the city to drop off Jasper at daycare (which was actually quite nice as I sat in the Director’s office to give Grover a feed and we had a good catch up and worked out that going back to work part time with two kids in daycare for two days will equate to just over half my fortnightly take home salary). Then there was a stop in a rather well-to-do suburb on the way home to pick up some groceries. I half expected to see a mini grand piano and violin recital in the Woolworths such was the ambience. (I did notice that they had Huggies nappies on sale but hadn’t reduced them by as much as the Woolworths in our suburb. WT?) Then it was back to Oscar’s school to collect him at midday for an appointment with his cerebral palsy specialist who also happens to be one of the world’s leading experts on the use and application of botox in cp kids to improve and sometimes give them their mobility. He told me about a conference he’s just been to in Vienna where they’re looking at new technologies and applications which will help kids who currently live with complete paralysis and how in one session a surgeon was discussing the use of bio-somethings into arm muscles but that the procedure requires a 7-hour surgrey and that our Doc put up his hand explaining that as he can read ultrasounds of muscles he could assist by simply using the ultrasounds, locating the relevant nerve and injecting the bio-something that currently cost over $110, o00. Such remarkable people and his rooms are just in this non-descript converted house in Randwick. He said he did really high-end maths at one stage and that it’s now really coming in handy as the technology and research is so sophisticated it really is all about the maths. I’m going to store that for when the boys are teenagers and ask me when on earth they’re ever going to need to know or recall some stupid maths scenario. WHEN YOU’RE CURING THE WORLD OF ALL ITS ILLS that’s when. He agreed with my concerns about the increasing stiffness back in Oscar’s joints, particularly his left foot, which will require surgery when he’s finished growing. He furthered his legend status by informing me of a new Medicare (read: Govt assisted) program for special needs kids accessing stuff like physio which no one – i.e. the GOVERNMENT – had alerted us too, which means we may be able to afford a few physio sessions for Oscar. That and agreed with me when I said I didn’t really want to go the Spastic Centre route after being told Oscar was ‘too good’ to access their services even though he has CP when he was younger and that the wait list to get anything from them is astronomical blah blah bored now. Anyway, back in the car. Put in call to a speechie operating out of the same building as CP guru who is using a particular speech therapy called PROMPT which works with kids who have learning difficulties and other muscle/processing issues to see if she knew anyone on the northside using similar methods. Of course there’s no one. Of course. We had a big chat about how it’s not about getting kids to replicate sounds but looking at what their muscles are (or aren’t doing) and getting that on track to get speech. Oy. Then a call into my GP as I needed a referral for an appt I had today. They could see me at 3pm. People, that’s in the category of Miracle. It was 2.25 and I was on the other side of the city. So we fanged it back up the insular peninsula and got there 4 minutes late. Which was fine as I didn’t get in to see him until 3.46. Another breastfeed on the run. Then mum rings (who’d picked up Felix from school for me) asking when I’d be home as she was going out. Fair call. Home in time for mum to depart. Start dinner. Give Grover a bath. A feed. Chef gets home with Jasper who he’s picked up on his way home through the city. Continue preparing dinner. Get Jasper in the bath. Serve dinner. Go and have quiet time with Grover who has a massive feed in the peace and quiet of our room. Go to eat dinner. Manage a few mouthfuls. Big boys have a shower, a recent development and one they love and means the whole ‘go and get in the bath’ has dried up. Nice. Help Oscar with his homework, get kids to bed and then fall asleep on lounge.
Then up today at 5am as I had an 8am appointment with the dermatologist so get everyone ready as they surface and are in the car with three of the four by 7.20am. Get to dermatologist late. Stand in her room in a state too close to naked for my liking. The carcinoma is still there on my arm from last year as two weeks after I saw her I found out I was pregnant and you can’t do the treatment (a cream you apply once a day for six weeks) when up the duff. She was all very pleased with the state of my skin and remarked that for someone who’s 34 with fair skin in Australia I am doing remarkable well and once this one is cleared up she won’t need to see me again for a couple of years. HAH. All those inactive years as an indoor bookworm followed by the years as an inactive cafe/restaurant/brunch goer have worked a treat. Manage Jasper’s tantrum at not being allowed to take the Thomas the Effing Engine from the waiting room home. Get three kids back in car, get Oscar to school. Feed Grover in car. Then head to the infamous Mall where people, I did what any self-respecting woman would do after a few days like that.

I went shopping.
Shoes for Jasper.
A new backpack-come-handbag (it’s two in one people and I am in lurve) for me.
A sling for Grover – because I am OVER the Baby Bjorn – which he promptly fell asleep in. Twice.
A few books for the boys (Andy Griffiths how I love thee) AND for me.
Sushi for lunch.

And now I must depart to go and pick up kids and start dinner once more.